Moguls
by MyLatte
Summary: Was the course always this high? It certainly looked a lot bigger and longer now than it had when he had practiced on it just last week." Matthew wins gold at the Olympics for the first time. France and Canada brotherly fluff!


I think this is pretty cracky. I don't know, I was watching the games the other night (we only get a bloody tiny portion, apparently the level of interest in Australia isn't high enough to broadcast all of the winter games. I find this so offensive! I want to watch! Anyway,) and Canada won their first gold medal in the men's moguls. So yeah, this weird thingo was born.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. It doesn't make much sense, but I wanted to get it done :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia.

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**Moguls**

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Suddenly Matthew's head started pounding and all the blood rushed to his face. Was the course always this high? It certainly looked a lot bigger and longer now than it had when he had practiced on it just last week? They couldn't have altered it already, could they? That wasn't fair. His senses seemed to have shut down, and everything seemed blurry and had a fluorescent glow around it from the giant stadium lights, and all he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears. There was no way he could compete like this.

As he walked onto the top of the course, everything caved in on him. He was representing his people, his all country was relying on him, and if he screwed up, it would ruin everything. This was his chance to show all the other nations, the whole world who Canada was. What he could do. He didn't feel good enough. All the other nations had competed so well and had all achieved such high scores. He could never do that well. He felt so nervous, and he hunched his shoulders over to stop himself shaking.

The started looked at him, and then lowered the flag down. Matthew pushed himself backwards and then launched himself forward, flying onto the ice. All the previous thoughts of worry were now gone from his mind; he couldn't focus on anything but the ice. It was exhilarating. The wind rushed past his face, leaving his cheeks pink and icy. He felt fantastic, like he was flying. It was times like these that he remembered why he truly loved the snow. The ramps were approaching quickly and suddenly he flew up one. He just had enough time to remember what he had to do, and twisted his body in the air, executing a perfect turn. He landed softly and sped off back down the hill.

The rest of the course went in a flash, and before he even noticed, he was skidding down to the ending. He slowed to a halt and took his skis off his feet. It was over! He had survived! He bent over panting and catching his breath. A loud voice echoed over the loud-speakers, and he straightened up, looking at his score on the board.

_Canada – Rank 1_

His eyes widened in surprise and then a smile spread over his face. He was winning! He was coming first! He laughed, almost hysterically and shook his head. It couldn't be!

The next competition was taking their place up the top of the course. It was Alfred. _Look at him, _Matthew thought bitterly, _he thinks he's the best. Waving to everyone. He's not as great as he thinks he is. _He didn't mean to think ill-thoughts about his brother, but he was justso _confident. _Couldn't he just let Matthew be in the spotlight for once They had competed in everything they had ever done together, why did Alfred always have to take over?

Alfred took off, and Matthew watched with annoyance. He was doing…really well. He had landed the first jump and had done an awesome flip. But then something happened. He skidded to the side and hit the boundary. There was a gasp from the crowd. Part of Matthew wanted to jump up and make sure his brother was okay, blood was thicker than water, after all. But the jealous part of him told him to stay down.

Alfred was back up on his skis now and completed the rest of the course with precision. Matthew stood up to pat him on the back and as Alfred turned to look at his brother, Matthew's jaw (not literally) dropped. He had never seen Alfred look like this before. His eyes…they were…disappointed. His shoulders dropped and he smiled at Matthew weakly before exiting the stage. Matthew's better nature got the best of him them, and he felt bad for Alfred. He had tried and practiced so hard for this. But he was still in first place.

He watched his brother walk off before directing his attention back up to the top of the hill. It was Francis's turn now, and he felt okay about that. He didn't want Francis to win, but he didn't mind if he did, as long as he wasn't beaten by Alfred. Francis started and headed down the course with alarming speed. It was so fast, much faster than any of the other competitors. He flew off the jumps incredibly and completed the slope.

Francis had the fastest time.

But that was to be expected. If Matthew was winning, then Francis had to be better than him, because he was raised by him, after all. He sighed. That was okay, but he would have liked to win.

"_Tres bien,_" Matthew mumbled, patting him on the shoulder. The Frenchman smiled back and they directed their attention back to the results screen.

_Canada – Rank 1_

_France – Rank 6_

Matthew blinked a few times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Had he won? He had won! He had beaten all the other nations! Little old Canada had won gold! It was his first time winning. He started laughing in delight and didn't even pull away when Francis gave him a hug and subsequently tried to feel his leg.

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"Kuma-!" He exclaimed softly, patting the bear that had run up to him on the head. It made a small whimper of appreciation and smiled in its own way. Matthew chuckled, "Look! I won gold!" He held up his medal and dangled it around slightly for the animal to see while himself admiring it. He still couldn't believe he was the best in the world at moguls at the moment. "I beat Alfred!" Kumajiro barked softly, a laugh. The bear had often been a companion for Matthew to complain to during the years the two nations were living under the same roof and had heard all about their 'rivalry'.

There was a murmur of voices not too far away from where they were, and Matthew straightened up, straining to listen.

"Who was it that won the moguls?" Someone who sounded like Ludwig asked.

"I think it was America-san," Kiku replied, "I'll go congratulate him after,"

Matthew downcast his eyes to the floor and slumped to sitting against the wall. His insides sunk and suddenly winning didn't feel as good anymore. He was an optimistic person most of the time, but when people don't remember the most important thing that's happened to you, it doesn't make you feel too nice. "It's all well and good to win," He mumbled absentmindedly to the bear, "But it makes someone feel really bad when no one bothers to notice or acknowledge," He sighed and buried his face into Kumajiro's fur. He should be used to this by now, but it never failed to hurt, even just a little bit.

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"_Mon cher, _you're been sitting there for quite awhile now. Is everything okay?" Matthew snapped his head up to find Francis staring down at him. Just how long _had _he been sitting there for? And how long had Francis been watching him do just that? His could feel his face flush pink, and not just because of the icy air.

He went to answer with the affirmative, but the words died in his mouth and all that came out was a small and uneven sounding: "Um…"

"You won gold, _Mathieu,_" Francis continued, "You beat me by a lot, you should be proud," He smiled at the Canadian.

"I am proud…" His voice sounded tiny and pitiful, not at all convincing. "It's just…no, don't worry about me."

Francis looked at him in concern, "That's not the _Mathieu _I know," He answered, "And saying that just makes someone worry more. You should be out celebrating."

"I don't really feel like it," He mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes. "Everyone thinks Alfred won," He suddenly blurted out, and then covered his mouth. He shouldn't have said that, he sounded whiny now. Why would Francis care?

"And why do they think that?" Francis shook his head in disbelief. "He wears blue, you wear red, and you have the true class of a Frenchman, unlike _L'Amerique _and his Arthur-esque ways."

"People always mistake me for him," He replied despondently. As much as he mulled and brooded over this fact, he had never actually told anyone before. He could feel his shoulders beginning to shake and he willed himself not to get any more emotional.

A brief look of understanding flashed across Francis's face and then was replaced by one of sympathy. He knelt down so he could be face-to-face with the Canadian. "You won _gold, mon amour_, you're the best in the world at moguls." He said softly, "Even if the other nations don't remember, that doesn't change anything. Your name will be written in the record books, and the whole world can see that. Don't go looking for recognition and confirmation from the others." Matthew wondered how Francis knew this. "You won gold, and nothing can diminish that fact." He reached out and tickled Matthew's nose with his fingers.

Matthew giggled. "_Merci,_" He whispered, smiling.

Francis stood back up and winked at him, "Anytime, _mon cheri,_" He answered, "Be happy,"

Matthew watched him walk off and then put his arms around Kumajiro, but this time, squeezing him happily. "I won!"


End file.
